


Boxed-In

by Amand_r



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, auction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:50:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amand_r/pseuds/Amand_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We could both be trapped in the box," Jack offered, and then looked around at the sealed doors of the cargo container while Ianto leaned back against one metal wall and laughed.  "Oh."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxed-In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dremiel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dremiel).



> **Author's Notes:** This is for dremiel, who bought my ass at auction in the lightning round. Her prompt was _Altered Ianto (alcohol, drugs, alien tech, alien saliva, whatevs) and Jack talk, possibly at cross purposes._ She didn't say anything about altered _Jack_ …Thank you misswinterhill and cruentum for teh betaz.

"You know, one of these days you're going to be the one who's all…" words obviously failed Ianto and he created a new word with flappy hands in front of his face.

"You're cute when you _think_ you’re drunk," Jack said, wavering. "But you're the sober one, remember?"

Ianto blinked at him. "Bullshite. I'm never the sober one. _You're_ the sober one. I take all the hits. Because I am the sidekick."

Jack counted the lines in his palm; there were like a billion of them. His lifeline was deceptively short. It was hard to draw infinity on skin cells. Well there was that ouroboros thing, but that was a symbol of eternity, not actual eternity. This was one of those Zen things he should have asked the Doctor. He was thinking of a lot of good things to ask the Doctor. He needed a pen.

"Do you have a pen?" he asked Ianto.

"You know, I'm the one who's always in trouble." Ianto waved his hands in a bad Fosse impression and widened his eyes. "'Oh no! Little Ianto is tied to the train tracks!' That kind of thing."

Jack squinted. "You're not tied to anything. If you were in trouble, you'd be trapped in a box. Besides," he added. "There's no law that says you have to be in trouble. Or that you’re my sidekick."

Ianto nodded. "Sidekicks get trapped in the box."

"We could both be trapped in the box," Jack offered, and then looked around at the sealed doors of the cargo container while Ianto leaned back against one metal wall and laughed. "Oh."

"I saw this on an episode of Dexter," Ianto said. "Or Scooby Doo. It's quite easy to confuse the two," he murmured, not looking at Jack.

Jack leaned against the wall and tried to remember what was going on. They caught aliens. Ianto was being silly, and Jack'd been gassed with…well, with something, obviously, because he couldn't figure out how many fingers he was holding up, and they were _his_ fingers. Maybe it was eyeball-confusing gas. Or finger-confusing gas. No no, they were perfectly fine. Something about this didn't sit right.

"Well," he said jovially, "that's why we have a team, right? Teams do all kinds of…teamy stuff, like rescues and basketball and pub quizzes."

Ianto glanced up. "I get to name our team. I name them…" he was silent for a long minute and then shrugged.

Jack glanced up at the light in the ceiling of the cargo unit and winced. Okay, so looking at bare lightbulbs wasn't a good idea even when he was sober. Why he thought the power of the drunk would save him was beyond his ken.

"We should think of a way out of the box," he said. That was a cracker idea. The box was empty except for them, and they'd been sprayed with gas, and how they'd _got_ in the box was a mystery, but that didn't have any bearing on the fact that they needed to be _out_ of the box, because people didn't live in boxes. Well, houses were boxes after a fashion, and flats were _part_ of boxes, and Jack's room under the Hub was shaped like a box. A nummy Christmas present-shaped box, actually. He should get a bunch of red ribbon and make a trail of it leading down to his box—er, room, and then tie one end to his cock, and let Ianto find him in the morning.

"Team Ianto," Ianto said finally. "Fucking brilliant."

"We'll get rescued, and then I can buy you a present," Jack said suddenly. "Like, what do you want? Is it Christmas?"

Ianto stared at him as if he'd grown a new head. Jack patted his shoulders just to check. Nope. One head up here. "You're completely mental. Are you drunk?"

Jack laughed; he couldn't help himself. He rested his back against the cargo unit wall and it groaned with the weight but didn't really shift. "I am wasted."

Ianto looked impatient. "I tried to _tell_ you, that _I'm_ the one who's—" His fingers stopped as she froze. "You don't suppose we are both a little tipsy, yeah?"

That bore some thought. Bore, like holes in a wall or something. They could use a hole in a wall right now. Not necessarily a hole to escape through, though that would be nice, but a glory hole maybe, and he'd get Ianto to stick his cock into it and then he'd—

Do nothing because he was in the box too. This box was putting a damper on his sex life.

Ianto shoved off from the wall and loosened his tie, pulling it through the collar of his shirt and tossing it away. "All right then. Little Ianto takes the field." He unbuckled his belt, mumbling, _"It's a very good day for Quidditch, Dean, with the winds coming from the north, and Seeker Jones has been in top form all week—"_

"What are you doing?"

Ianto pulled his belt from the loops. "Invariably, when people are in need of rescuing, they are rescued right when the situation gets sexy."

Jack watched him peel off his jacket and thought about how he was supposed to be doing something. Probably. Whatever. That jacket was sexy. He could get Ianto to just wear the jacket. And that'd, no, that would just look stupid. Sexy stupid, like.

Ianto in just clown shoes, jacking off into the hub tub. Where the shit did this all come from?

"I don't think it works that way. It's not that easy." Jack shoved off from the wall and took off his coat. On the off chance that Ianto was right, he had places to be and this was better over sooner rather than later. "I'm not sure that you're thinking clearly. On second thought you might actually be a little under the influence."

Ianto unbuttoned his shirt and cuffs. "Well, at least I'm not driving this thing." He froze. "Wait, who is driving this thing?"

Jack stopped moving in the middle of pulling his shirts over his head and listened. "Are we moving?" He yanked the shirts off and tossed them in the far corner. "We could be at sea." And then, because it was distracting, "Take off your trousers." His own were not coming off, but that might be because his belt was holding them up. His belt should have elastic in it for times like this, and when he'd eaten too much pad Thai. On the other hand it would defeat the purpose of having a belt in the first place which was to beat people with. No wait, the other thing.

"Keep my pants on," he mumbled.

Ianto was one leg out of his trousers and he hopped, mumbling something about 'getting the quaffle back to Malfoy' when he glanced up. "That reminds me," he said, tugging the trouser leg over his shoe and taking the footwear with it and it flew off, banging against the wall.

Jack toed one shoe off and reached to steady himself on Ianto's shoulder. Ianto's skin was hot. Wow mama hot. Hot like…potatoes, which was a bit of a loose simile because potatoes were only hot when you put them in an oven.

An oven was a box.

Ianto blinked at him. "Why is it that Americans always say, 'Keep your pants on' when someone is being impatient?" Ianto asked earnestly, his hands on Jack's shoulders, as if he were asking him which wire he should cut.

"The blue one," Jack told him, and Ianto ignored him.

"I mean, most situations one usually says that don't call for unexpected nakedness, like banging on a front door or waiting for—I bet it's about piss."

Jack fell back against the wall and wondered where Ianto's tie was, because he was going to shove it in his mouth. Or hang himself with it. "They say the blue one, but I forget. There's several different shades of blue."

"Or _perhaps_ , you know, it's about when you're impatient to have sex, and you have to keep your pants on until you get into the flat." His eyes focused on Jack's. "I should say that to you. Jack." He shook him, and Jack blinked a few times. "Jack. Keep your pants on."

Jack looked at his shorts and then back up at Ianto. "I think it’s too late for that."

Ianto nodded solemnly. "We're going to have to soldier on. Fuck ourselves into being rescued."

Jack leant forward and kissed Ianto, whose lips parted and hands yanked at Jack's shorts and then they were on their way to the floor too. The best part about it was that Jack was more naked than Ianto by now, and he felt he deserved a ribbon for that because he'd got a late start in all of this, what with the being not the one to think of stripping and, hey wait—he was _always_ the one who thought of stripping first. He must have been slipping. Stripping. Slipping. Hey, those rhymed.

Like hot oil wrestling.

Ianto's whole body was overheated, or it felt that way, a little sheen of sweat, and Jack wasn't sure if it was because he was genuinely overheated or under pressure or undergoing strenuous physical activity, though if it was the latter, Jack could always throw a blanket after they were done and give him a cool down period like they did to racehorses. Just the thought of the blanket made _him_ warm, and he tried to use his malfunctioning fingers to grab Ianto's cock. He missed once, but that was because Ianto kept moving back and back until finally he was a fly ball caught on the outfield, and his back pressed into the metal and he kissed Jack like it was the last time there were ever going to do it.

They were going to do _something_ , he remembered as he broke the kiss and a panted, glancing down at their cocks in his hand, double-fisting it, like a John Woo movie. There was a shooting a load joke in there somewhere, but he'd have to ferret it out and he didn't have the time.

Ianto's hands were on his arse and he groaned when Jack squeezed them both in his fist. "See, I would have thought that this was sexy enough to merit a rescue," he whispered. Library voice.

It was true, any minute now--

Owen opened the door of the cargo container and promptly shut it again. "Jesus! I did _not_ need to see that. For the love of all that is holy, put some clothes on."

Jack squeezed his and Ianto's cocks as he heard Tosh's voice say, "Oooh, are they naked?"

"Oh, Owen, just let me—" There was banging on the door as someone, Gwen, probably fought to open the door and Owen was obviously holding it shut.

Ianto snorted into Jack's shoulder. "I told you. I'm always right."

Jack turned them both so that his back was flush with the wall and then turned himself in another little spin, pressing his cock up against the cool metal. So it was just them that were hot. "Well, I'm not stopping now. _JUST LEAVE IT UNLOCKED!_ " he shouted and Ianto fingered him roughly. Oooh, no lube. This was about to get rough. Or sexy. Or sexy rough, like getting a blow job from unshaven Indiana Jones. Nice.

 _"IT WAS UNLOCKED,"_ Owen shouted back, then rapped twice on the door. _"YOU HAVE THE KEYS TO IANTO'S CAR AND FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T LOSE THEM."_

Jack pushed his arse back onto Ianto's fingers and grunted, then laughed a little into the wall. "Oh man, we just fucked ourselves out of a—" Ianto shoved into him, and Jesus, did that burn for a moment.

His brain felt clearer, though.

"I'm—I was going to make a joke about—" Ianto shoved hard and gasped. "Riding you to your rescue, but I thought better of it." He thrust again and Jack slammed into the wall, only managing to keep from slapping his cock against the metal by grasping it in one hand. "My restraint must mean I'm sobering up."

He had a point. And apparently one of them had to drive. "Fuck me sober."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

"Boat jokes. You must be sober—ah! Sobering up."

Ianto pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck, hot, feverish, sticky. In the distance he heard Gwen say, "Oh, can't we just…guard the box? Surely they'd want a guard."

"No."

"Or we could just wait, over there," Tosh added, "within earshot."

END


End file.
